


Of Tigers and Bonfires

by TheQueen



Category: Naruto
Genre: Bittersweet, Canon Compliant, Christmas, Christmas Presents, Fluff and Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-07
Updated: 2021-01-07
Packaged: 2021-03-18 13:22:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28618740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheQueen/pseuds/TheQueen
Summary: Hashirama and Madara spend their first and only Winter Solstice together.A Gift for Darby
Relationships: Senju Hashirama/Uchiha Madara
Comments: 3
Kudos: 38





	Of Tigers and Bonfires

The great tragedy of living in the same village as Hashirama is that, despite their wise age of 28 and the considerable responsibilities and powers draped across their shoulders, the great God of Shinobi had never learned to grow up. 

Which is why, when the first rays of light touch the earth on the morning of the winter solstice, Madara is neither surprised nor annoyed when Hashirama chooses to break down his door with a deafening yell. 

“Madara!” he shrieks, jumping onto his bed with an unnecessary amount of childish glee that Madara finds charming despite himself.

Hiding his faint smile in his pillow, he opens one blurry eye to glare sleepily at the familiar mop of tangled long brown hair. “Hashirama,” he hisses. “It is not even sunrise.”

“The sun is here,” Hashirama corrects, with a flourish, pointing to the window just past his right shoulder where indeed the sky was blooming a soft blue. The clouds of snowy winter having departed for the celebrations tonight. “And it’s Winter’s Day!” 

“Yes,” Madara sighs, rolling over so his hair falls around his face, blocking both suns from view. “I am aware of the date. I helped plan the festival as much as you.”

“Which is why--” Hashirama starts, much too loudly. 

“Which is why I know it does not start for another several hours,” Madara grumbles, sleep pulling heavy on his limbs so he’s too slow to push the idiot off when he climbs more surely onto the bed and drapes his long limbs over Madara’s back. 

“But Madara,” Hashirama whispers conspiratorially in his ear so his warm breath graces across his cheeks. “This is not for the festival.”

Madara sighs and tilts his head back so their noses brush and the most he can see is the warmth twinkling in Hashirama’s eyes. “It’s cold.”

Hashirama glances at him a moment longer before a smile breaks across his face, sure in his victory. “I have a present.”

“Does this present require leaving the bed?” Madara asks, turning over so he’s lying on his back, both eyes now finally open. He knows he will get up. He knows he cannot say no to the idiot, not now. Not now that he’s said yes to the village, to living near each other, to this...this friendship.

“It might,” Hashirama says amiably, stepping off the bed to gather the parcel he must have dumped on the floor when he flung the door open. 

“Then I’m quite sure I do not want it.” Madara grumbles even as he sits up and accepts the simply wrapped package Hashirama hands him. Pulling lightly at the twin, he opens it to find a warm fur scarf tucked inside. “Is this fox?” he admires, running his fingers along the unique patterning. 

“There’s a coat downstairs,” Hashirama adds, looking far too pleased with himself. “If my lord would so kindly get up,” he gestures unnecessarily to the door. 

Rolling his eyes, Madara gets up, but not before giving Hashirama a firm slap on the back of his head. “I got you nothing, you know.”

He’s lying.

Hashirama knows he’s lying. 

(Later. Madara will realize Hashirama always knew when he was lying even when he didn’t.) 

“I know,” Hashirama says. 

.

By the time Hashirama manages to get his friend out the door, the sun has finished rising and the village has just started to rise. 

To be honest, he’d expected it to take longer to get Madara up. Which is why they have to wait a few moments for Yua Uchiha to finish setting up before they’re seated at the kotatsu, the heater flickering on a few seconds later. 

Hidden by his new furs, his Uchiha looks quite comfy. White fox had been a good choice, Hashirama thinks, reaffirming his decision as he leans across the table to pour Madara a cup of morning tea. The man had never fared well during winter. Their battles on snow covered fields had always been slower, more distance fighting then the intimate hand-to-hand that Hashirama had preferred. For the longest time he’d thought it was a Uchiha thing but looking at Yua busy herself around the small dinner, gathering their menus with a merry cheer to her step, he has since learned it is just his Uchiha. 

“What?” Madara mumbles. If he’d been anyone else, he might have thought Madara was annoyed. But he catches the faint smile, the delicate raise of eyebrows just barely hidden beneath the white cap. 

Hashirama takes a deep breath and closes his eyes, “Today is a good day.”

“You’ve decided?” Madara teases before taking his cup, long delicate fingers, for once not hidden away behind familiar leather gloves wrapping around the ceramic. Hashirama watches as he takes a sip, the steam only accentuating the rosy glow of the other’s wind bitten cheeks. 

“I have,” Hashirama says with a bit more confidence when he sees Madara smile widen at the familiar taste. “I’ve planned it all out you see.” 

“I’m sure you have,” Madara chuckles. “And I’m sure you’ve cleared your schedule with your brother before planning it all out?”

Hashirama waves away his concern with a general flap of his hand, “He won’t mind.”

“And when he inevitably joins us once he realizes you’ve run off to spend your work day with me?” Madara pushes because he was good at that and Hashirama had long learned his Uchiha liked to be a little insufferable. 

“But Madara,” Hashirama whines, “It’s a holiday!”

“This evening,” Madara reminds him as if he could forget. Planning the festival had taken far too long and been far too political. Yes yes, everyone celebrates the winter solstice differently. Yes yes, they’ll do their best to incorporate everyone's traditions. Yes yes, whatever you say Grand Elder. Hashirama can feel his mood drop just by thinking about it. 

As if reading his mind, Madara remarks, “It wasn’t that bad.”

“I haven’t the head for it,” Hashirama admits, turning his gaze to his tea. “Politics. Give me a battlefield and an army any day. But this… everyone just…”

“Has far too big egos,” Madara remarks. 

Hashirama snorts, “A bit of the pot kettle, isn’t it?”

“At least I’m aware,” Madara counters, puffing up proudly. “It’s one of the reasons you like me.”

Hashirama finds his mood recovering as if it were possible to stay sad for long in the presence of his Uchiha anyway. “It is.”

This time the flush on his Uchiha’s cheeks has nothing to do with the wind. 

. 

Tobirama joins them soon after breakfast, just as Madara had expected. 

As white as the snow they trudge through, Madara might have even missed him if not for the downright gloomy countenance the man seemed to carry with him everywhere he goes. As if possible, his scowl only sharpens upon seeing Madara standing next to his elder brother. 

“Brother,” he snaps. 

Hashirama’s mood takes a sharp downwards turn and Madara hides a soft snicker behind the fur cuff of his new coat (and oh how he adored the warmth of it. He’s not sure he’ll ever take it off, not that he’d tell that to Hashirama. Lord knows the man has a big enough head as it is). 

“Brother!” Hashirama echoes far more cheerfully but Madara knows it is faked. 

Once he could have sworn the brothers were close. He remembers the joy in which Hashirama had spoken about his witty younger brother, the pride. He’s sure Hashirama still loves him, probably still proud of him. But whatever warmth might have been had long since slipped away during years of war. It is a sad thing to see, though not unique. 

No… he and Izu-- He and Izuna were always especially close, he forces himself to finish the thought before glancing away to where a group of Hyuuga were stringing up paper lanterns for the festival later today. A young boy races past carrying wine. Izuna would have loved this…

“I thought it was for another,” Tobirama’s surly voice pulls Madara from his thoughts and he glances back to find Hashirama’s shoulders tense in anger. 

“Tobirama,” Hashirama says, a warning clear in his voice. “We will discuss this tomorrow.”

“We will not,” Tobirama pushes because for all that they might not be close, he is still a younger brother. “You have papers to sign and…”

“And nothing that cannot wait for tomorrow,” Madara steps in because he will not let him ruin Hashirama’s good day. Not when he wanted to enjoy it just as much. 

Tobirama rises to his full height, as if the two inches of height might make up for the power difference and Madara refrains from rolling his eyes if only just. “And how would you--”

“Because I am still involved in the planning of this village despite your best efforts,” Madara says coldly, stepping between Hashirama and his younger brother. “No merchant or lord will be attending to duties on Winter’s Day.” 

In another life, Madara wonders if they could have been friends. He might not like the man but his intelligence and cunning had always been something he’d admired. His attention to detail had kept the village from falling apart on more than one occasion. Maybe not friends but at least acquaintances, perhaps. 

But what is past is done. Madara will never forgive nor forget. Izuna lays between them like an uncrossable revine. Which is why Madara feels very little shame as he glares at the other, eyes flashing a dangerous red. 

Part of Madara wonders if they will come to blows, almost aches for it. He watches Tobirama reach for the kunai at his side, fully armed as always as if that could save him from Madara.

But then Hashirama is placing a hand on his shoulder and is leaning close enough that Madara can feel his warmth through the fur. “I think enoughs been said. No need to come to blows in the market. I will see you at the festival tonight, yes?”

Tobirama flushes and glances away and Madara raises an eyebrow in question. “Yes, Brother.” 

“Thank you for your concern,” Hashirama says diplomatically (and the man wonders why people insist he handle political matters? The idiot.) “I’ll come into the office early to review any concerns you have but for now Madara and I have an appointment to keep?”

“We do?” Madara says, finally tearing his eyes away from Tobirama now that the threat has been neutralized to stare up at Hashirama. 

As if by magic, Hashirama’s anger leaks out of him to be replaced with childish mischief as he grins. “We do!”

.

The appointment takes them past the village border and the soon to be training grounds to a small lake hidden by the towering oaks. 

Quiet as a mouse and just as quick, Hashirama slips behind a bed of ferns. Quick to follow, Madara ducks down next to him. 

“What are we waiting for?” Madara questions, staring out at the water. In the early morning light it looks almost frozen over. Water an unnaturally light ice blue and still, the fallen leaves floating delicately on the top. 

“You’ll see,” Hashirama promises.

As if on cue, the leaves break to their right and a tiger the size of a small horse pokes through, cautiously sniffing the air. His breathing slows as he leans forward in awe. It steps delicately through the snow, it’s long tail flicking behind it. It pauses for a moment and Madara is terrified it will bolt. But then the world settles and it continues its path forward. Only once its full body has emerged through the bushes does he notice the cubs plopping along after her. Three...no four, no larger than his two fists pressed together. They race each other to the lake as their mother stands guard, greedily drinking from the cool water. 

Only once they are done does their mother lower her guard enough to drink herself and Madara can properly admire the beauty of her stripes, the power of the lean muscle hidden beneath a kunai strong fur. 

They do not stay long. It is not summer where a big cat might lounge around the water and the mother is quick to collect her children and corral them back into the forest and safety. 

Madara waits a few precious seconds to see if she will return before turning to Hashirama with wide eyes, “How did you know?”

Hashirama smiles, pleased as a cat with the canary, and Madara takes no pains to hide his joy. “I found this lake a few weeks ago when we were surveying the land for training grounds. I saw the prints and tracked them to see when the mother might arrive. She follows a very careful schedule. When I realized she might visit this morning, I knew I had to show you.”

“Thank you,” Madara whispers, too grateful to shrug off the arm Hashirama wraps around his shoulders in a side hug. 

“Of course,” Hashirama whispers. 

. 

At first Hashirama is worried he was wrong and Madara would request to go back to the village. Instead, they spend a few hours lounging by the waters edge in silence. It doesn’t surprise him when the early morning wake up call catches up with his Uchiha and Madara falls asleep with his head against Hashirama’s shoulder, still wrapped warmly in his furs. 

The festival will be in another hour or so, Hashirama sighs checking the position of the sun. He knows he’ll have fun if he goes. Not that he has a choice. Madara, Tobirama, and he had spent far too many hours planning it. They were expected to show their face. 

Part of him, a selfish part, wants to stay here in this serene little patch of time. The water is too still, the world white with winter. But when he closes his eyes he can see their river, their summer spent in hiding clutching at a friendship that would soon slip through their fingers. 

_ Never again _ , he thinks glancing at his Uchiha sound asleep next to him. The village is here. Their people are at peace. They will never have to part again. Not while he breathed. 

Carefully, he moves Madara so the other is more comfortable settled with his head in Hashirama’s lap. He runs his fingers through long curly black hair and smiles when he sees Madara unconsciously bury his chin in his coat. 

He knows he shouldn’t have enlisted Tobirama’s help in finding Madara’s gift. But work had occupied too much of his time. Maybe if he’d been honest… But his brother hated Madara as much as Madara hated him. He would never have helped if Hashirama had been honest. So he’d lied by omission, claiming it was for a very special friend and let Tobirama fill in the blanks. He knows Tobirama hoped it was for Uzumaki-dono. It was what the village was expecting after all. 

He’d never been naive enough to consider the village an end to war, no matter what people may claim. Even now other unions, other villages, were emerging on the horizon. War would come to them soon and the Uzumaki were a stable ally of the Senju for generations. Marrying Mito Uzumaki is a politically sound move.

Hashirama hates politics.

_ Maybe… in another life… _

Above them a hawk cries out to the wind and Madara shifts under his hands. “Mmmm… Hashi-”

“Good morning,” Hashirama teases.

Madara pops up, quickly settling next to him with unnecessary grace. But then again that must be a Uchiha trait. He’d yet to see one stumble even after a year of living with them. “You let me fall asleep!” Madara accuses, cheeks puffing childishly for all that the other likes to accuse him of being an overgrown child.

Hashirama does not fight the smile as he greedily drinks in the other’s sleep-clouded expression, all defenses lowered. “It's not my fault someone likes to read far too late into the night.”

But he knows it's a lie. He’s spent a few nights next to Madara, has heard the broken screams and soft cries for a brother now dead. Nightmares follow Madara at night for all he likes to deny it. He knows why Madara has been so tired lately. Just as he knows Madara would never want him to mention it. 

(Later. After the dust clears and he’s left standing on the edge of this lake all alone, he will wonder what he could have done differently and despair.) 

“I do not,” Madara huffs,crossing his arms. “Just because some of us are capable of reading!”

Hashirama  guffaw, gathering a fist of snow and throwing it before he can think better of it. “I can read!”

Madara freezes as the snow hits him straight in the face, a clump clinging to his now, shock coloring his expression before morphing into a dangerous mischiefness that Hashirama has only seen when Madara is about to break one of his bones. “Oh! Is that how you want to play it?”

“Madara,” Hashirama cries, scrambling up and nearly tripping on his robes in his haste to get some distance. “Now be reasonable.”

“Come here, Senju,” Madara cackles, gathering a fist full of snow that Hashirama is sure will somehow end up stuffed down his pants. 

“Madara… Madara! Wait!”

Safe to say they both return to the village soaked. 

.

The festival is in full swing by the time Madara manages to get his hair dry enough so it won’t freeze the minute he steps outside. He greets a few of his clansmen on his way to the center marketplace and receives a few nods in return. 

The distance aches sometimes when he knows it was his grief that led to this. He is trying to be better, trying to stuff it down. Being with Hashirama helps, spending days working next to him as the village blooms all around them. Maybe that’s why he’d been so eager to help with the festival. 

All around them, people chatted, eating or drinking at various stalls. Children ran past with harried parents from one game stall to another. And he even spied a few couples slipping towards some of the quieter corners. Lights had been strung up in Hyuuga fashion, delicate paper lanterns while along each street corner sat a tall red candle in Uchiha tradition. A warmth has settled over Konoha for the first time since the last fall leaf fell and he can feel it in his bones. 

He isn’t surprised to find Hashirama a few drinks in at the sake bar. A sampler sat before him while Tobirama laughed with one of their cousins… Tola? Toka? Something like that. 

“What are you drinking?” Madara asks, plucking the cup from Hashirama’s hand with little fanfare. 

“Oh good, you’re here,” the cousin says cheerfully as Hashirama sputters and tries to grab the glass back. “It’s now your job to keep this idiot from falling into a drunken stupor.”

Madara cheers her before downing the glass. “I’ll do my best to keep him from becoming an embarrassment.”

Hashirama whines loudly about betrayal and unfairness as Madara picks up the second cup. 

Tobirama has yet to look at him. For a moment, Madara considers engaging him before refrains. Today has been a good day. Tonight will be a good night. 

He takes a sip of the sake when Hashirama falls unexplainably quiet. Turning to face his friend, he’s surprised to find the idiot looking at him with a strange expression. “What?”

“You’re wearing the scarf,” Hashirama smiles and reaches out to touch it, careful not to disturb the jewels pinned to his yukata. When Madara doesn’t respond, he adds, “You like it.”

“It’s warm,” is all Madara says, finishing his second glass. There is another on the table but he has no desire to be drunk and he’s fairly certain looking at Hashirama’s flushed cheeks the other has had more than enough. “Come on then.”

Hashirama straightens, reaching out to grab Madara’s hand and to both of their surprise Madara lets him. “Where are we going?”

Madara turns to the center where a large bonfire roared, “Dancing!”

.

Of course Madara is good at dancing, Hashirama laughs as he spins his friend for the eighth time tonight before twirling him close. All around them friends and couples and families dance to the booming drums and soaring strings. The bonfire at their backs, so hot that Madara has shed his fur and the snow around them has turned to water. 

Mud stains the cuffs of his pants and paints the ends of his hair as the earth is kicked up under stomping feet. Liquor settles in his veins and under the full moon the world is turned silver and sweet. 

But all the beauty in the world is nothing compared to the moment Madara tilts his head back and laughs, a deep belly aching joy that defends Hashirama to everything else. The world slows and, not for the first time nor the last, Hashirama is struck by how much he loves the man in front of him. 

He would destroy mountains, move oceans, walk the deserts for miles and miles, if it meant he got to keep this moment, this peace. If it meant Madara would always be this happy, this free. 

But time moves forward and Madara spins back into his arms. For one solitary second Hashirama pulls him close enough to smell the sweat and ash on his skin and the woody scent of his perfume. And then Madara steps back and Hashirama lets him go. 

Because Hashirama knows he will always have to let him go.

.

In the end they find themselves on the cliff that started it all. 

“I never got a chance to give you your gift,” Madara says, setting the bottle of plum wine aside to reach into his pockets and pull out an expertly wrapped silver parcel. 

“What is it?” Hashirama asks, pushing himself up into a sitting position before accepting the gift. 

Madara rolls his eyes but he’s smiling and under the full moon he seems to glow. “Open it, you idiot.”

Hashirama wastes no time ripping off the wrapping paper to show a long wooden boxthe length of his palm. Cracking it open, he’s surprised to find a necklace. A simple bronze chain and at the end a long blue crystal. “It’s beautiful.”

“I found the stone during one of my missions to the mountains,” Madara says, “When we were chasing down the Yun Brothers. It… reminded me of you.”

“You made this?” Hashirama asks, touching the stone. It feels warm to the touch. 

“I did,” Madara smiles, pleased at the response. Which he should be. It was simple yet elegant. A perfect representation of his Uchiha’s own style.

“Can you help me put it on?” Hashirama takes the necklace out of the box and offers it to Madara.

“Turn around.”

It feels right the minute the stone rests flat against his chest. Hashirama cannot explain it, even if he tried. Only that he knows he will never take it off. 

“You like it?” Madara asks, oddly nervous for the usually confident--if not a bit arrogant--man. 

“I love it,” Hashirama promises, unable to stop touching the slowly warming crystal. 

Next to him, Madara shifts just a touch closer and with his free hand, Hashirama takes Madara’s hand in his. 

“We’ll do this next year won’t we?” Hashirama whispers as they gaze out on their village. The faint music still audible from their perch. 

Next year… Madara closes his eyes against the sting of lights and the warmth against his side. Next year Hashirama will be married. Next year Madara will have his duties, might even be engaged if their elders have any say. Next year there will be a Hokage to vote on and peace treaties to keep and war growing on their borders. Next year will not be this year. Next year…

“Yes,” Madara promises because he cannot keep it. Because he knows next year will not be this year, this moment, this peace. 

“Of course,” he smiles, turning to look at Hashirama because, even if he knows, he wants, even just for a moment, to hope. 

**Author's Note:**

> This is part of a gift exchange hosted by the discord server Hashitiddy. My prompt was "First Holiday Together, Angst, Hurt/Comfort." I listened to As The World Caves In By Matt Maltese on repeat. I hope you like it, Darby!
> 
> I know this is late but Merry Christmas and Happy New Years everyone. I know the country is on fire right now but I'm hoping for a good year nonetheless. Together we can make America better!
> 
> And as always please let me know what you think! ^U^


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